A Small Ceasing to Be

Cherry

By Silver Spun Sand

Thu, 14 May 2015
  • 5119 reads
12 comments
 
A motley, miscellaneous mélange
of saucepans, soup bowls,
and side-plates
 
pushed aside by innuendos 
and the lingering of a soft-shuttered,
Sunday lunchtime.
 
A school blouse in soak 
in suds in the sink...a stubborn stain 
refuses to budge;
 
rubbed until it fades 
to a lighter shade of making do
till she can afford another.
 
A fly settles on the half-cold
remnants of a shank of lamb –
with a wave of her hand
 
says goodbye to brief lives
and all that might have been.
Through an open window wafts
 
the crying of a child, a blackbird
serenading its mate, next-door’s TV,
and, but a small, ceasing to be. 
Certificate 12
Poem
Silver Spun Sand Poems
Philosophy

Comments

Submitted by hudsonmoon on

Made me a bit sad. Not always a bad thing, really. Read it a half dozen times. 'Says goodbye to brief live and all that might have been' is the when that gets me. Much enjoyed, Tina.

Rich

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Hello there, Rich.  Your words, more than appreciated, and I thank you for them.

Tina

 

Submitted by Bee on

Gentle and unassuming. I love the title, too. 

Bee

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Bee, pleased you got something from this. Many thanks for telling me.

Tina

 

Submitted by london_calling79 on

Those soft 's' sounds are both soothing and saddening. The stillness of a Sunday.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Beautifully put, lcsmiley

 

Submitted by Rhiannonw on

Brings to mind scenes from the era of my childhood somehow.
On second time round reading this, I think the 'goodbye to brief lives and all that might have been.' and the ceasing to be, brings to my mind a pratical approach to the finiteness of life, and the direction things take or don't take, looking back and forward. Rhiannon

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

That's it, exactly, Rhiannon. You are inspired.

Tina

 

Submitted by VeraClark on

You've nailed Sunday Night Syndrome and made it so much more final with death. Very well done. I thought Sundays were just full of fly-stamped joints and stained uniforms in my childhood.

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Succinctly and superbly (under)stated, Vera.

 

Submitted by Shannan on

... all just moving to cease to be ... sigh ... 

As poets must remind us... thanks Tina

 

Submitted by Silver Spun Sand on

Shannan - and so you breeze in.... a breath of fresh air, in more ways than one.

Warmest regards

Tina